Thoughts and Random Things

Jazz Pipes

Note: Well, so much for updating this every day. My parents keep taking away my phone. Whatever. I am going to be posting a lot of random short stories on here, so don't let the titles mislead you. Also, 1st person usually isn't me or my POV. If it is, I'll make it as clear as I can.

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"Spare change?" I muttered, holding a raggedy shoe out as busy New Yorkers passed by. I repeated the line, over and over. 3 hours later, I checked to see how much I had collected.

An ABC wad of gum, an "admit one" ticket, and 51 cents.

I sighed. As a homeless man in New York, no one trusts or likes you. Collectively, we all have quite a terrible reputation. Even the innocent ones.

I tried again. "Spare change?" I asked, grasping and waving the worn shoe in hopes of grabbing any sort of attention.

A little girl, who looked to be about 10 or 11, tapped at her mother's side. "Mommy, we should give some change to that man," she said, pointing to me. I smiled wearily at the two of them.

The mom looked me over, her expression shifting to one of disgust as her eyes crept over the sight of me. I couldn't blame her. But what she said next was just plain rude.

"Samantha, never interact with filthy lowlife like him. He is a wasteful drug addict who is sitting on the edge of death, and I would rejoice if he were pushed off. Keep walking. Ignore him and the other trash like him."

The little girl Samantha looked over her shoulder at me and shot me a sad and empathetic glance as her mother, tightly grasping her hand, guided her away.

Whatever. I hoped that woman realized I hadn't taken a single harmful drug in my life.

My home was really just this one specific alley. That place took care of me just as I took care of it. I kept it as tidy as I possibly could-- a corner for trash, a different corner for bathroom, alongside the left building when I ate, and alongside the right building for all other duties. It was a narrow, rectangular slice of darkness and coziness that I could call my own.

Right across from that alleyway of mine was a vintage-looking store accentuated with flaking white paint around the windowsills and Bauman's Music Store in burned-out neon. I had always wanted to go inside-- it looked like the perfect sort of place for me, even though I had never really taken an interest in music. As I stared across the street, wondering about the music store, I saw the very same girl and mother from before, on the other side of the street this time. They were still holding hands as they walked into Bauman's. They didn't come out for a very long time.

Flash forward five years. Life had had its ups and downs, its good points and its bad, but I was still homeless as ever. I remained in the same alleyway, purely because of my uncanny fascination with Bauman's Music Store. I don't know why I was so charmed by it, but until I figured out why, I wasn't going anywhere. Samantha and her mom had gradually started going there more and more frequently until soon they started spending most of their time there. I could tell Samantha had school during the week, but she went to Bauman's after school each day. Sometimes she would bring a boy with her. From afar, I would judge the boy, listing in my mind all the things I disliked about him. Imagining myself forewarning him not to touch her or I'd get my revenge.

Samantha grew to be beautiful. Her hair was perfectly harmonious between blond and brown, she was fresh-faced and clear-skinned, but my favorite thing about her was her laugh.

Sometimes, as she was walking into the shop with some sort of companion, the tagalong would make a joke, and Samantha would laugh and laugh and laugh, snorting and crying. I loved to see her laugh. I loved to see her happy.